dear stranger,
I read somewhere that the transition from one season to another can be hard for those processing loss. We split at the end of winter, and when spring and summer came, they felt like a breath of fresh air. The sun warmed my skin, kissing my mornings, and the heat felt bearable, almost cleansing. For me, it was the opposite of what I read. I thrived in the summer, far from the chill of winter. I never liked the cold, and I reveled in its absence.
But now November is closing in, and I feel you returning in fragments. Memories rise like frost on glass, the outlines of our years together finding their way back to me, reminding me of how far you slipped away. My body tingles as I write this, a rush of warmth against the memory of that cold night in January.
I knew winter was your favorite season. You loved the bite of ice in the air, the shimmer of rain turning the streets to silver. You said it calmed you, with the way it softened the world and the way it smelled; a raw and earthy perfume of Mother Nature. I tried to love it too, to see it the way you did. I studied the colors and the shifting textures in the sky. I lingered in the air, searching for the notes of rain you spoke of so fondly.
But now, as we transition into winter again, I find myself feeling you in ways I haven’t in so long. It’s strange; foreign almost, like revisiting that cold winter. And I don’t think I want this; this feeling. It's lost its warmth, or maybe it's the feeling itself that has grown cold.
m
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